


Luna Lovegood and the Broken Relic

by Dra_Rad_11k



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Draco seeks redemption, F/M, Ginny is not herself, Luna sees Professor Trelawney as a maternal figure, Remus Lupin is a ghost, Ron is not present, Terry Boot is a ghost
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29369241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dra_Rad_11k/pseuds/Dra_Rad_11k
Summary: What if, after Voldemort's defeat in Deathly Hollows, he wasn't finished.What if, after the events in the Chamber of Secrets, he remained in Ginny's mind.What if, after Harry abandoned two of the three Deathly Hallows, the time would come for one he holds dear to take the spotlight, gather them and save his own life?What if...What if...What if...Social oddball Luna Lovegood teams up with bookworm Hermione Granger and the redemption-seeking Draco Malfoy on a quest to save Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley from Voldemort's final stand. In order to do this, they must gather the three Deathly Hallows from across Magical Britain. The only things standing in their way are a love-struck Boy-Who-Lived himself, and the once pure and harmless Ginny Weasley. Harry has the original Cloak of Invisibility, the Resurrection Stone is lost somewhere on Hogwarts grounds, and the Elder Wand is hidden away wherever Dumbledore's grave is hidden. Can the trio stop Ginny and save Harry before it's too late?
Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Harry Potter
Kudos: 3





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have this story on both Wattpad and Fanfiction.net, in case anyone here recognizes it. I am, however, moving it here. As such, here is the cover page:
> 
> https://img.wattpad.com/cover/149520578-256-k537690.jpg
> 
> Updates may be sporadic, but I have not abandoned the story. I will be posting each chapter one day at a time. When I run out of published content on Wattpad, the story will temporarily enter hiatus.

It had been a week since the final stand of the most powerful dark lord in centuries, and the death tolls had finally ceased rising. It was a day of mourning for all involved.

Yesterday evening, while the final few bodies were located, Harry Potter, Minerva McGonagall, and Kingsley Shacklebolt had come up with the funeral arrangements and, to a far lesser degree, renovations to the castle. Due to how many casualties the battle had inflicted, the funeral arrangements would have to be done in groups.

It had been decided that today was to be designated to Ravenclaw. Tomorrow would be for Gryffindor, the day after that would be the Order of the Phoenix members and Hufflepuff students, and the day after that would be for the Slytherin students that allied themselves against Voldemort. These would be the only burials taking place on Hogwarts grounds.

Overall, today was a day of mourning. For Luna Lovegood though, it was also a day of silent reverie. She had spent most of the past week drifting around aimlessly, lost in thought, and questioning why she had to be one of the survivors. Why it was her to live and good people like fellow Ravenclaw Terry Boot to die needlessly.

Speaking of Terry, he was on the hastily-erected makeshift stage, and at the podium, giving his own speech. He had died, alright, but became a ghost. Nobody was sure why. He was, however, handling his own death considerably well. That being said, he was lethargic and depressed more so than the majority of the still living Ravenclaws.

"...and well, I didn't really know Corner all too well, but I've heard he's a great guy. From what I did know of him though, he always had some witty joke ready if you asked. May he rest in peace," Terry was saying. While his body had been crushed by the entirety of the Ravenclaw boys' dorm tower falling on him, his way with words had never really diminished.

After the once lively brunet closed up his speech, the funeral came to an end. Before long, only families and close friends of the fallen remained. As Luna was gathering her things and adjusting her raincoat, she overheard Harry talking with his closest friends, Ronald "Ron" Weasley and Hermione Granger. She sidled up to the trio and waited for them to finish. None of the three really noticed her presence, silent as she was.

"Are you sure, Ron?" Harry was asking. The astounded look on his face seemed rather out of place considering the subject of conversation and who it was directed at.

"Of course, mate. I just can't stand being here anymore. After all those years of danger, and then," the red-haired hero lamented, "and after what happened with Fred. I just...I just don't think I could handle it."

Nobody protested.

"Well, we'll still keep in touch, right?" Hermione.

"Of course! You're my best friends! Hogwarts or no." Ron.

"And we can still get together?" Hermione.

"Definitely! Say, Harry, what about you?" Ron.

"Oh, um. I...really haven't decided yet," the hero in question faltered, "I think I will, yeah."

Luna couldn't blame him. For the past week, she and the Boy-Who-Lived come Boy-Who-Conquered had been trying to come to terms with their respective cases of survivor's guilt. Between the two of them, Harry had it worst. He blamed himself for the majority of the losses the battle wrought.

Luna drifted away to let the Golden Trio hug it out. As she left the procession, the blonde mentally recapped her schedule for the rest of the day, glancing at a Muggle wristwatch she had taken a liking to. An hour after noon. Good, she was still on schedule.

The young heroine pondered the next hour of her free time, before deciding to call the Knight Bus to visit her father before tea with Neville.

When the bus arrived, Luna was surprised to see Draco Malfoy enter after her, and even more surprised to see him sit across from her. She remembered her imprisonment in his basement.

He apologised for her time spent in his house, and between the two, a friendship sparked that day. They chatted for a few minutes before Luna called off everything else she had planned for the day, in favour of sleep.

When Luna arrived at the Burrow, where Mrs. Weasley had allowed her to sleep for the past week, she ran straight up to her borrowed bedroom, sidestepping the house's normal inhabitants. They must have returned to their home while she cried on the Bus.

Just before Luna fell asleep in the bed, she thought she saw someone peeking at her through the slightly ajar door. Briefly, the person's eye flashed red. Luna dismissed it though as a hallucination from her time in the Malfoy basement before drifting off into sleep.


	2. Stumbled Beginnings, Part One

The Lovegoods were most certainly _not_ loony. If you were to find one and call them loony to their face, they would most likely laugh and brush it off. Though that doesn't mean they wouldn't take offense to it. The Lovegoods just happen to be very receptive of others' emotions, and sometimes people mistake this for a form of psychic ability.

The Lovegoods however, would instead devoutly insist this was a magical ability - one passed down five generations from the deceased Callista Lovegood. According to family lore, she was born with hyper-empathetic abilities, and had inadvertently started her great-grandson Xenophilius to begin pursuing largely undiscovered magical creatures.

Yes, the Lovegoods were no strangers when it came to magic, nor had they been for several generations. In the wizarding world, or at least that of Britain, the Lovegoods were among the oldest families to know and practice magic. They were in fact so deeply and yet subtly-rooted in wizarding society that one could mistake them for being among the first three families to discover magic itself. Although any who made that assumption would be wrong. They were fourth, and proud of it.

Luna was no different from her classmates. "Just a little eccentric, that's all." It's what her father had told her that one time, at least. Back a few years ago, the summer after breaking into the Department of Mysteries with her friends, Luna had broken down. The hurtful names, torment and insults of her fellow classmates had all but piled up over the months spent ignoring them. But after squaring off with Death Eaters and nearly losing not only her own life, but that of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Ronald and Ginevra Weasley, her first five friends, she couldn't hide the pain any longer. Thankfully nobody had been terribly hurt during that battle, though.

When she'd finally broken down, it was merely a week after returning home from Hogwarts' comforting stone walls and her ghost friends. She'd told her father everything, and he simply sat still, drinking his tea with one arm and hugging her with the other, listening. She could almost hear his voice saying it in her head, she'd remembered his words so well: _"Luna, love, you have nothing to worry about. If one of us were loony, it'd be me. It's what they used to call me back when I was your age...fifteen or so? I don't remember it all that well, as my mind's a little blurry still from using pixie dust to put out that fire earlier. But the point I'm saying is, you're not insane. Just eccentric. But if you really do see yourself as loony, and this isn't all just the anxiety talking, remember that sometimes, you need to be insane, to outsane the sane."_

Since then, she'd gotten better, and it got progressively easier to ignore her classmates' spiteful remarks over time, but that still only cushioned the blow. She could practically feel the waves of disgust, spite, hatred, and in a few cases sympathy or slight fear, of her fellow Ravenclaws towards her, not to mention that of the other three houses.

It's been five long years since the break-in at the Department of Mysteries. Five long years since she'd nearly lost _him._ Harry. Her first official friend at Hogwarts. But she didn't, and was glad for it. Harry was surrounded by people who loved and cared for him, so she was content enough to sit back and enjoy whatever time he managed to secret away from his busy life for the two of them, knowing how uncomfortable she was in large crowds. The veritable soup of ambient emotion produced in large crowds could overwhelm her senses all too easily, and had caused her more than one panic attack in the past three years alone. She hadn't necessarily told Harry why she avoided crowds though, feeling for the first time ashamed at her hyper-empathetic heritage, and worried he would feel betrayed after her efforts not to tell him despite the years they'd known each other.

It was Harry who was the most caring person she'd known. She'd managed to squirrel herself away into the astrology tower during evening mealtime halfway through her fifth year, hoping to be left alone and given time to recover from having to trek from Hogsmeade back to Hogwarts alone (and with a likely sprained ankle from a particularly nasty curse; one she happily returned, only to be stunned into unconsciousness) after being left behind as some cruel joke or another. She was gazing at the full moon from the balcony edge, trying to forget the pain in her ankle when she'd heard Harry crying out. He had thought she was going to jump off the edge. The thought honestly hadn't crossed her mind, but she had very much welcomed the positive attention at the time, and had, without quite realizing until it was too late, told him what happened with her ankle. He'd made sure to carve time out of his schedule to hang out and escort her to her classes more often afterwards.

This was perhaps why she fell for him.

But after witnessing how happy Harry seemed around Ginny, Luna attempted to repress her feelings, and largely succeeded. However, after Voldemort's defeat and subsequent death in the demolished Hogwarts Great Hall, Luna had noticed something...peculiar...about Ginny. It was well-hidden too. Almost well enough that she'd initially thought to warn Ginny of a Nargle colony nesting in her ribcage. She didn't say anything though, as the presence was less...secretive, and had a darker, less-neutral energy to it.

"Ms. Lovegood? That is your surname, correct?" Ah- right. Class. _Of course._

"Yes Madam Yves. That's me. Luna X. Lovegood. Though you may know me better as Loony Lovegood."

"I just needed your attention dear. Well, class is beginning, dearie. Do pay attention."


	3. Stumbled Beginnings, Part Two

The Malfoys weren't _all_ bad. In fact, were someone to accuse them of being a house full of Death Eaters, the majority would scoff. No, the majority of Malfoys were neutral wizards. The exception to this rule was the head of Malfoy house, Lucius. He was rather devoutly a Death Eater, and even was so devoted to his master that he invited the man into his home. This man was Tom Riddle; or rather, Lord Voldemort.

The Malfoys before Lucius were respected. They had even compiled quite the substantial library, with the sole purpose to educate their house members. Now however, it was used to show off their wealth.

No, the Malfoys were certainly not _all_ intolerable egomaniacs following the Dark Lord. One such example would be Draco Malfoy. Of course, nearly everyone in the wizarding world that recognized Lucius Malfoy's imprisonment were also informed of the exclusive interview his son provided for the Quibbler, on advice from the Boy Who Lived.

Draco Malfoy had been a child sorely lacking in fatherly attention. He had acted out at school because of this. He simply had not been taught what was right or wrong. Of course, he had begun to realize this by the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts. But by then, his reputation was too poor to hope for recovery. The Quibbler had been especially certain to emphasize the point that Draco had only joined the Death Eaters in attempt to gain recognition and attention from his corrupt father. Naturally, many had been shocked at the apparent disjointedness from the seemingly ever-composed Malfoy clan. Draco Malfoy's story wasn't convincing enough on its own, but with time, and with Harry Potter's vouching, people slowly grew to accept it.

Draco Malfoy, after his father's imprisonment in the newly-renovated Azkaban two years ago, was a visibly-changed man. It was easy to tell that he had lost the air of confidence and snark that usually clouded him like a vulture to roadkill, and traded it for a look of forlorn anxiety. It was an even larger shock to the students of Hogwarts when he returned a year after Voldemort's defeat to redo his seventh-year classes alongside Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom, joining the former sixth-years.

But perhaps the most notable change was the distinct lack of rivalry between he and the Boy Who Lived. Draco had visibly mellowed out, and appeared to be on a quest for redemption, even going so far as to go out of his way to provide backup for Harry in losing arguments that inevitably occurred with politicians. He had even ceased his grudge against Muggleborns, and clung around Hermione Granger more often than his own housemates in Slytherin, if only for a sense of companionship once Harry began hanging out with his friends less and Ginny Weasley more.

Speaking of which-

"Ms. Lovegood? That is your surname, correct?"

"Yes Madam Yves. That's me. Luna X. Lovegood. Though you may know me better as Loony Lovegood."

"I just needed your attention dear. Well, class is beginning, dearie. Do pay attention."

Draco was somewhat apprehensive of this year, as he was retaking several of the seventh year classes he'd already gone through in years prior. And while this did provide him with the ability to fall back on his notes from before, it also provided periods of not learning anything new, as his notes had already been well fleshed out. Thankfully, it had taken about twenty-three months to fix the castle, and the knowledge had ebbed away. He would not have to suffer boredom's plague for the whole year now, knowing everything and learning nothing.

After the school's reconstruction was completed, the old castle had to be approved by "safety codes" before reopening to students. Apparently, having mobile staircases and so many paintings hanging on the walls was a "fire code" violation? One of the Muggleborns' parents was an architect and was concerned with the castle renovations being exactly as they originally were - it turned out that Hogwarts was only about a year or so from collapsing, and was only held together by a few remaining wards that had been unraveling since Dumbledore's death. On top of this, the stone foundation had taken so much weight for so many decades that it had begun to crumble.

With the new renovations came a need for funding, which Draco and a couple of his Slytherin cohorts had earnestly provided. So with such a generous donation, he was accepted back into the school without being charged any further - a good thing too, since that donation was sizeable enough that the Malfoy vaults were now significantly emptier, as were the Zabini, Greengrass, and Potter vaults.

Part of this funding went to developing a better education board, and hiring more staff, since the school had lost its status as the best magical school in Britain about six years ago. The Heads of Houses no longer had to balance their duties with teaching, for one, and furthermore the Deputy Headmistress position was reassigned to Augusta Longbottom, since she had time on her hands, and didn't require payment for the position while the school board and Wizengamot were still getting back on their feet financially.

Alongside new staff also came updates to the Muggle Studies class and a couple new subjects were added, too. Speaking of said class, Muggle Studies was now largely attended by Purebloods, ever since Mr. Evan Granger took a close look at the curriculum. He had stormed into the half-restored Headmaster's office and demanded that the class be updated, pointing out that the class was about sixty years behind. Who knew Muggles progressed so fast? Draco certainly didn't.

One of these new classes was called Voodoo and American Magicks, and was taught by a mildly paranoid American professor named Madam LaVee. The class was, admittedly, an improvement from Divination, but not much could be said for the other two new classes: Hieroglyphics, and Muggle Technologies. The former was taught by an Egyptian professor on loan whom Draco did not have the pleasure of knowing yet, though he'd heard from a number of classmates that the man was as nutty as Professor Trelawney. The latter class was taught by a Halfblood woman named Professor Yves, and was the class he was in now.

Said professor lazily turned his way, ash white locks swaying as she did. The woman looked hardly old enough to qualify as a professor, and had been announced as Hogwarts' youngest hire, at twenty one years of age. In fact, every so often, her easygoing demeanor ensnared the affections of some poor sap.

"Mister Malfoy?" She called, holding up a small rectangular box of some sort with an antenna sticking out of the top.

Cursing under his breath at being called on, Draco mustered up all the courage he could to look like he wasn't just sulking out of boredom. "Yes, Professor?" Sadly, it came out weaker than intended.

"Can you tell me what this device is?"

Before he could even respond, a hand shot into the air, hesitantly followed by a few others. Nevertheless, the teacher kept her eyes boring into his. Feeling a sudden chill along his spine, he suddenly got the feeling that the lady was restraining herself from using legilimency to find what was distracting him.

"A...radio..?" He offered, trying to look hopeful and impressionable in front of the young teacher. He had taken to following a lot of Hermione's behaviours ever since Hogwarts started teaching again, and he was no longer given a mere light slap on the hand for his actions. While it did make him seem more studious, he never could quite get it to look as she did, and so more often than not made a fool of himself.

Had he the energy or pride anymore, Draco Malfoy would lash out about it. But that was in the past.

Unfortunately, his answer was wrong. "No, Mr. Malfoy, although you are technically correct, this is a _two_ -way radio. A walkie-talkie. Better luck next time."


	4. Stumbled Beginnings, Part Three

Hermione Top-of-the-Class Granger, the most scholarly witch of her year (and Muggleborn, at that!), was practically failing a class. The new teachers had yet to adjust to her overzealous response to assigned work, and so reserved her papers to be graded last, in an effort not to be overwhelmed by the sheer effort she put in. Sometimes said teachers were unable to completely grade her work due to how many other students they had and how long her essays tended to be.

Sparing a withering glance at her schedule as she walked, Hermione hurried along the busy corridor, passing Myrtle's bathroom along the way, and nearly bowling over a set of twin Slytherin first years in the process.

Thankfully not all of Hogwarts had been destroyed, but unfortunately most of what hadn't either held bad memories, or in the case of the boys' dormitories and library, a new ghost.

During the final battle with Voldemort, one of the Ravenclaw dorm towers had fallen - the boys' dorm tower, taking with it about fourteen injured students and the two Death Eaters the tower landed on. When the rubble was cleared, Terry Boot was found, as a ghost. After the Battle of Hogwarts, he was thought to have survived, until a second year Hufflepuff bravely ventured into the wreckage to look for survivors, and heard him screaming about seeing his own body. He was mostly alright, but had taken to floating around the library or the boys' dormitories in an almost perpetual huff, as the school's few remaining wards still recognized him as a student, and a boy at that. He apparently had tried entering the girls' dorms once during the reconstruction of the Great Hall in an attempt to prank a classmate. The Grey Lady had found him the next morning, pounding his ghostly fist dejectedly against an invisible barrier preventing males from entering those dorms. It had been two months since he gave up trying.

Really, Terry was an excellent help with studying in the library, ever since Madam Pince had permitted him to use an entire corner of the room as a study corner, so long as silencing wards were up. Needless to say, Hermione was upset that even with a tutor her grades were disappointing. Unfortunately, the class she was worried about was one of the new ones: Hieroglyphics; meaning that Terry knew just about as much as she did in regards to the subject.

Walking to the side of the corridor, she entered the classroom to her right: Defence Against the Dark Arts. Hermione was sure she would be late. Unfortunately, the classroom was empty.

 _The wrong classroom, AGAIN?_ She thought to her self angrily.

Even with the newly installed electric lighting, she never remembered which rooms were not in use anymore. Several rooms in the castle had been transformed from storage to classrooms during the reconstructions, and many stayed that way, as the replacement rooms seemed to do just fine. For instance, the Charms classroom was in such poor condition that Professor Flitwick relocated the class to the dungeons, across the hall from the Potions classroom. Fortunately the room was spacious enough to fit about half of the classroom materials, and a wall was removed between it and a storage room to make the room even larger. That particular location change was only temporary.

However, Defence Against the Dark Arts had been one of those classes that had been moved to the sixth floor, and the older students were thankfully given a more understanding response from the teachers if they got lost or were late for this same reason.

As she hurried off to the correct classroom, Hermione began to reminisce about her days spent wandering these halls with her friends in years past. She unconsciously stepped over a broken tile that refused to stay repaired as she did this. Once, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and herself had made up a group given the unofficial name of the Golden Trio, but said trio was practically nonexistent as of late.

After Voldemort's defeat, Harry had begun to draw into himself more, and his reclusive status was understandable - Hermione herself still suffered the nightmares - as it is though, Muggle treatments for PTSD don't seem to help very much when magic is an included element in the equation. Sadly, neither did Calming Draughts, Draughts of Dreamless Sleep, or even a Draught of Living Death! And while many survivors chose the simple solution of an _Obliviate_ , just as many survivors refused it, for the sake of remembering and honouring their fallen compatriots. Harry however, had been hit hard with survivor's guilt, and cut his ties with all but Ginevra "Ginny" Weasley, and was even reluctant at keeping her in his life. He had, however, returned to finish his Hogwarts education. Sadly though, Hermione was one of the people he tried his hardest to avoid.

Ronald "Ron" Weasley was an on again, off again friend, now that Harry wasn't there to break up their arguments. He and she had briefly attempted to become a couple not long after the Hogwarts reparations had begun about two and a half years ago. That experiment ended promptly a week later, when they had come to the mutual conclusion that they weren't meant to be. Their contrasting personalities and ambitions, _"or in his case, lack there of,"_ she had complained to Harry just weeks before he cut her off, just could not coincide without a third agent nearby most of the time. Neither was willing to include a third agent into their failing relationship. In the end, Ron had decided that he didn't want to finish studying at Hogwarts and applied to be an auror. That was months ago. Last Hermione heard, he was living a moderate life as a professional Quidditch player, on reserve for the Chudley Cannons. He hadn't owled her since.

Hermione arrived in the classroom a minute after class started, and not a second off. Thankfully, the new Defence teacher was the ghost of Remus Lupin. Nobody was quite sure how he had become a ghost, and he seemed equally as uncertain as his students were when asked. Because he was a ghost, and therefore already dead, he didn't fear the chance that the position was still cursed. The older students really just appreciated his presence as a familiar, competent one.

He didn't mind Hermione's tardiness.

"Alright class," he began, speaking as loudly and clearly as he did when he still needed to breathe. "Open your textbooks to where we left off yesterday. Now, before we do anything else, I still have papers to grade. My Grading Quill has gone missing, so unfortunately I need to do this manually. So, until this is done, you may use this class period to review the list of dark creatures we have gone over."


	5. Suspicions Shared

In Professor Yves' joint Ravenclaw-Slytherin-Gryffindor Muggle Technologies class, Luna observed, there were three types of students. The majority of these students were Purebloods, but with a few Half-Bloods sprinkled throughout the crowd.

First, there were the hard workers. The students who tried their hardest to memorize what these Muggle devices were called and what they did, regardless of whether or not they were familiar with said devices. The students like this were diligent, and focused on their work. Half of this group were Ravenclaws, as expected, but the other half was made up of equally-determined Slytherins. Luna considered herself a part of this group.

Next, there were the average students. This group was the one that made the least disruptions in class, and happened to be the one that Professor Yves called on least to answer questions, because most could be trusted to answer concisely, and for the most part pay attention. This group was fairly balanced among the three houses present.

Finally, there were the slackers. These were the students that either took the course because it was now mandatory for them, as Purebloods, to take, or because it looked like an easy grade. This group was mostly composed of Gryffindors, but with a few Ravenclaws, and members could be found busying themselves doodling in their notebooks or taking naps. One of these students was Ginevra Weasley, whom did not share her father's interest in Muggle "artifacts."

_Ginevra Weasley._

After this observation, Luna diverted her attention from the lively teacher, finding her to be entirely too energetic for this time of the morning, to her notebook (Professor Yves had banned the use of parchment for the duration of the semester, and had passed out Muggle notebooks and pencils to use instead). It was just after breakfast, after all! Professor Yves was excitedly explaining a basic calculator to a sixth year Slytherin girl, who seemed to want to be anywhere else but here. Several students seemed to be intrigued by the device, but Luna already owned one, and knew how it worked, so the professor's explanations were unimportant to the blonde as of yet.

 _Ginny_.

Luna had had the pleasure to seat herself not too far away from the redhead, but unfortunately Ginny's popularity ensured her a circle of friends surrounding her. It was not as if Luna was jealous, no. Of course not. Those friends of hers seemed to become close rather quickly - a little like how some of the other Ravenclaws had "befriended" her years back, but not quite - so Luna purposefully avoided them, mentally labeling each as fake.

Ginny however, was a different story. Over the past month or so, Luna had noticed something...disconcerting...about the Gryffindor, and it wasn't the sudden popularity. Sometimes, Luna would recognise a faint, yet familiar, scent from the girl. That scent however, disappeared not long after, leaving Luna scrambling to identify it. In fact, she would liken it to the scent of Wrackspurts, except it was too musky. Regardless of that, Ginny had been acting strangely ever since the fall of Voldemort.

Then again, a likely cause of that could be Harry confiding in her so much. Ginny's lifelong dream of being Harry Potter's girlfriend had finally came true for her, and while the redhead visibly enjoyed this, it had to come with some drawbacks. After all, she had to manage not only her own social interests, but Harry's as well. On top of that, one also had to consider the disappearance of Ginny's signature look - warm and confident - traded in for a much colder demeanor.

'Whatever the cause of this may be,' the Lovegood heir silently vowed, 'I will solve the puzzle of Ginny's strange behaviour, or my name isn't Luna X. Lovegood.'

Luna blinked back into focus, eyes still pointed at her notebook. She appeared to have been doodling without realizing it. Luna seemed to have drawn a rather detailed sketch of a diary next to an equally well-drawn sketch of Harry. Professor Yves had moved on to pointing at her whiteboard, now explaining her experience with calculators to the students. Many more students were being attentive this time.

"...and that day, I scored top of my class for mathematics. Now, before I get further off topic, those of you who have taken or are currently taking Arithmancy as a course, raise your hand."

All but a few students raised their hands. Luna raised her hand a second after most everyone else had, still trying to clear her mind of distracting thoughts. She caught a cursory glance sent her way by Draco Malfoy, and gave the young man a smile and wave. He looked nervous for some reason. In fact, he seemed to be even more jumpy than he had been in recent months.

Two months ago, Draco had admitted to her, amidst fervent apologies for how he had treated her in years past, that he was trying to correct his behaviour, and still had to be careful he didn't upset anyone of their classmates, or even the staff, as he was acutely aware of how low their opinions of him were, and didn't have any sort of safety net to fall back on. He had dropped most of his old Slytherin buddies for that same reason, as he knew most of the castle's inhabitants would have no issues reporting anything he did that was seen as even remotely suspicious, and sticking around his old friends could only slow his journey to redemption. As such, Draco had begun to lose his trademark confident appearance, and had fallen into a meek disposition. Luna had, not too long ago, tried to convince him to toughen up a little and act more certain of himself, but to no avail, for he had deflected her offer by stating that he sometimes had to fight the urge to make a remark, as he was unused to holding back in a retort.

Or, as Luna surmised, Draco wasn't used to caring what others thought of him, and even less so caring about how he treated others.

"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Lovegood, this is not social hour, but thank you for volunteering to be our first group of two. Can you lovebirds focus on the activity we're doing right now instead of chattering?" The professor asked, poorly hiding her smirk.

Draco's pallid skin tone reddened slightly at the implications. Luna, however, had no such reservations, and as such, protested in her normal airy voice. "Professor, if you must know, Draco and I are not a couple. I can assure you of that."

The professor in question didn't seem to care that she'd been wrong.

\--~--~--~--~-- .

"Professor, if you must know, Draco and I are not a couple. I can assure you of that."

Draco could not help but to think of a pretty brunette he had known since first year at the professor's statement. He quickly regained his bearings though. If there were any benefits to living with his father for as long as he did, one would be appearing unflappable, because if you give someone an edge, be well prepared for them to take it. The world truly is a vicious place to live. At least, according to one Lucius Malfoy, it is.

"Come on, Lovegood," the Malfoy House heir drawled, making no effort to hide his exhaustion as he got up and walked towards the demure girl's desk. After all, a calculator would serve him no use - it wouldn't do to have the future head of a House not knowing how to work numbers. He'd excelled with his textbooks ("A Half-Blood's Guide to Algebra II" and "Economy for Purebloods and Dunces Alike" were his most recent accomplishments) before starting his sixth year at Hogwarts. "Let us discuss today's findings."

Now, Draco was rather good at twisting words and phrases into different ways, rephrasing and replacing wording with verbiage similar in meaning in order to give himself the most desirable outcome possible despite potentially starting with an unpleasant deal. He knew what to emphasize in his sentence, and expected that the deceptively smart blonde before him knew just as well as he that there was more to his proposed conversation than just classwork. All the evidence for that find was in his broad and unspecific wording. A subtle difference that shouldn't arise any of the wrong attention.

Once the blondes were seated, Draco took it upon himself to snatch Luna's pencil, as she was twitching it around in her hand as though she would just up and start sketching for the heck of it while he spoke to, or rather at, in that scenario, her.

The problem at hand was, Draco had to admit, out of his hands. He just wasn't close enough to help. He had been noticing something off about the daughter Weasley, and knew that she and Luna had once been close friends. Also, the apologetic heir couldn't help but to admit that Luna's observation and assessment skills exceeded those of his own.

"Look Loveg- Luna. I have something of a...confidential...matter, to discuss with you. For your and my ears only," he started. Truthfully, he did want to tell her. But he had to be sure Luna would keep this to herself. Draco did not want the youngest Weasley hearing of this. Seeing the Ravenclaw before him nod and discretely move closer, Draco continued in a hushed voice. "Over the past several weeks, I have been noticing your friend Ginny over there acting differently. And I do not think that it is because of Harry. She seems more hostile and unfriendly lately, and she's been skipping the Quidditch practices and games."

Throughout Draco's information dump, the girl sat still, misty silver eyes transfixed on a corner of her notebook, where some small sketches resided. However, she still nodded at him to continue, proving her attention to be at least partly focused on him. Good enough. She seemed to be taking it rather well so far, but at the same time, she was difficult to read. Draco had learned that during the weeks she had spent locked up in his basement. She could just as easily be frustrated at him as miserable at the prospect something was wrong with her friend. Nevertheless, he continued.

"If you will remember, in your first year, my father placed a cursed diary in her possession. That diary later possessed _her_. After this, Ginny acted strangely until Harry saved her. Right?" Seeing another nod of confirmation, he went on. "This is going to sound farfetched, I will admit it, but she is behaving fairly similar to back then, only being more social. And her mannerisms as a whole have changed. She is beginning to act...well, familiar. I recognize the look in her eyes from somewhere, but I hope I am wrong."

"So you're supposing that Voldemort never truly left Ginny's mind, aren't you?" It was more of a statement than a question, but Luna certainly hit the nail on the head. Even though he knew she was observant, her receptiveness continued to surprise him.

Although the eccentric girl no longer had to locate her shoes from pranks of classmates, she knew the layout of Hogwarts' halls, even the newly rebuilt ones, by heart, and would still wander when bored. In fact, her habits of checking every nook or cranny accessible to her had allowed for her to witness some of Ginny's mannerisms herself when the redhead believed herself to be alone. All this, she told him, was something she had noticed too.

"Mr. Malfoy? Miss Lovegood," an irate Professor Yves began, "Would you care to explain to the class what is so riveting? Surely it's nothing relevant to my class, or else you'd be speaking louder."

Before either student could reply, the recently-installed class bell rang throughout the room, startling a few of the Pureblood students who hadn't quite yet gotten familiar with its shrill noise. Thankfully, Professor Yves dropped the matter just as casually as one might point out the shape of a cloud, and merely shrugged, shooing the large class outside her room.

"Draco," the eccentric Ravenclaw started, "I believe that we should keep our suspicions to ourselves. Releasing information as shocking as this would be as dangerous as mentioning a confirmed Crumple-Horned Snorkack sighting in the Quibbler. It would endanger their population when people start checking if the Quibbler was telling the truth. That's why we don't include confirmation of the sightings in the reporting articles, you know."

Truthfully, although Draco did understand her reasoning for both points, he did not understand her comparison of this grim situation with that of an alleged sighting of a creature from her father's magazine. If a comparison was even necessary for the potential uproar this news getting out could cause, he could think of a much better one. Such as, the general wizarding public of Britain learning that the Daily Prophet wasn't as reputable as it was proclaimed to be. Or, more appropriately, word getting out that the Muggle Adolf Hitler was actually still alive, frozen in a sheet of ice off the coast of Norway (he wasn't, at least as far as Draco knew - he and Seamus Finnegan had flown all over the Norwegian coastline via broom and _Notice-Me-Not_ charms six months ago in an effort to locate the latter's dropped wand...truly, it was a long story).

Almost worse than that was imagining how Harry might take the news that he wasn't yet done dealing with Voldemort.


	6. (Tug on My) Heart Strings

Draco was tired. One of his dormmates had accidentally woken him up at the crack of dawn with a properly-cast _Lumos_. According to his self-updating calendar positioned near the exit of the dorm, it was Saturday today. What was so important about this day was that it was the one day of the week that the Malfoy heir had requested to be left alone, even at the cost of missing breakfast in the Great Hall or an evacuation notice. It was the sole ground rule he had lain out to his dormmates, and with the exception of an incident a month ago involving an improperly cast _Petrificus Totalus_ and waking him to beg for him to fix their mistake, they had mostly respected his wishes.

Until this morning, apparently.

He was also exhausted. He had spent the earlier part of the day with Luna scouring the parts of the castle accessible to them for one Hermione Granger. Both blondes shared the belief that Hermione was their best bet to get info on Harry and Ginny without confronting either of the two. To their shared dismay, the bookworm in question had not yet descended from Gryffindor Tower, and so the search was called off for the time being. Before Luna had run off to the Great Hall for some pudding roughly an hour ago, she had seen it fit to inform him that she was sure they would find Hermione later today.

And that meant more running around the grounds at an unspecified time later today, quite possibly while everybody else was eating their evening meal in the Great Hall. An absolutely lovely prospect. However, complaining to himself about it would do nothing productive.

Draco was upset. He had gone out of his way to find his old favourite 'sulking spot,' as his former friend and ally Vincent Crabbe had once called it. At the time, he had called the aforementioned ally an oaf and declared that label to be useless drivel. Little did Crabbe know, but he had secretly adopted the name and begun using it himself. However, Draco now realized, the stocky Slytherin never actually received a 'thank you' for his idea.

Memories like this of the 'good old times' had continued to plague him for the duration of his stay at Hogwarts. Greg Goyle, confiding in him secrets that he dared not tell his father. Blaise Zabini, ranting to him about troubles at home, unaware of the troubles plaguing Malfoy manor. Pansy Parkinson, flirting so shamelessly with him as he played ignorant. Joking about the earliest Quidditch matches Slytherin had won that he had played in with Theo Nott. Playing around with Daphne and Astoria Greengrass before their parents found out and forbade it.

Good times. That was before everyone had fallen out. Before any of them had been spoken to about joining the ranks of the Death Eaters, and 'doing their families proud.' Before they had split and separated.

A returning seventh year Gryffindor interrupted his musings.

"Draco," the boy- er, man, called, "I didn't think you'd actually be there. I was on my way to the Library looking for you."

"Longbottom," he greeted. "What seems to be troubling you?"

Neville Longbottom had been a friend of Harry's, and had also been in close association with Ginny and Luna for several years now. After Voldemort's supposedly final defeat, he and Draco had gotten a bit closer. Close enough, in fact, to where the two regularly chatted in the hallways, and referring to each other by last name was merely force of habit. Neville had continued to work with his Herbology studies even after Hogwarts was declared to be in dire need of repairs, and if he hadn't chosen to return as a student, Professor Sprout had offered him to return as a teacher's assistant. He had declined, but only because he didn't feel his education was complete. Nowadays, Neville spent the majority of his free time in an old greenhouse the portly Herbology professor had gifted him, and any other time was spent in his dorm, in classes, or the Great Hall. Meaning that for Neville to have strayed from this pattern and search the school for him, something must be troubling the clumsy Gryffindor.

"I- ah, what?" The brunet stammered. "How did you..."

"Know something was wrong?" He offered. "This is not a part of your normal schedule. Time in the dungeons for you is typically restricted to lessons only." This answer seemed to be enough to get Neville back on his feet again.

"Right. Can I join you?"

"Sure." He shuffled to the side.

The two sat for a minute or so in companionable silence, before Neville finally spoke up. "I need some help. Er, advice. I was hoping I could go to you for it."

After taking a few seconds to absorb this, Draco relented. "Sure," he repeated. If someone would've had told him this would be happening four years ago, he would have laughed in their face at the improbability. Surely, times have changed.

"It's about...well...it's about this girl."

_Oh._

Now this was most certainly not something Draco would have imagined happening. He could picture being asked about getting revenge, or finding something, or even just about homework. But never this.

Draco sat up straight, hearing a pop from his back and closing the book he had been reading. He tried to put on his most attentive expression and turned towards the now blushing Gryffindor, angling both feet towards the Longbottom heir. After all, social and psychological cues were a thing his father had drilled into his head as a boy. Most Purebloods were taught these tricks at a young age to help them to know if people are interested in what you're telling them or bored. These lessons dealt wonders for the acute observer when making deals and offers. One such trick was: if both of someone's feet are angled towards you, you have the person's full, willing attention. These were useful in more than just business deals of course, but Lucius stressed these to be certain his son was adept at politics.

Neville waited another second or so before continuing. "I...I wanted some advice on how to get her to notice me."

One of the things Lucius could never remove from his son's personality was his curious nature, and so at this point Draco was getting anxious waiting to hear who it was. He kept quiet though. Neville, however, was nervously speeding up.

"It's ah, it's funny, you- you already know her and all that. So, I just figured that you were my best bet, since Harry doesn't speak to me all too much anymore, and..."

At the mention of Harry, Draco froze. Nevile had mentioned that he already knew the girl, and inferred that it was also someone Harry knew. Time to pick this apart. Calling on his deductive reasoning skills, Draco zoned out for a bit, lost in thought.

Harry never exactly associated himself with too many of the female students, and that had only become more true this past year. Ignore that piece of information for now. Which female students did _he_ associate himself with? Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Daphne Greengrass occasionally, and that's about all that immediately come to mind. Wait. Also Chang. Cho Chang. But not so much anymore, so, that eliminates her. Alright, Neville also inferred that it was someone who didn't exactly spend too much time with him. That...was too broad a scope. Go back. Female students Harry associated himself with most were Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, and Ginevra Weasley. No. Scratch that. Harry and Luna don't spend an incredible amount of time together. And he did not know entirely too much about her. Conclusive results:

... _oh, no._ The only student that fit that description is...

"-Hermione." The boys chorused. Neville seemed pleased Draco had been 'paying attention.' Draco, on the other hand, was internally panicking. Key word is internally. Draco was putting extra effort into keeping his unflappable exterior as rigid as possible.

"So, could you help me? I'd really appreciate it. I've been trying to gather the courage to do this on my own since Tuesday, but with your help, I'll bet I can get her attention in under a month!" Neville eagerly inquired. The last time Draco had seen the clumsy Gryffindor smile so wide, he had received a professional Herbology guidebook complete with notes, tips, tricks, and edits by famous Herbologists from an anonymous source. Although to Draco it was quite clearly from Professor Sprout.

Draco remained silent, debating whether or not to respond or just run off. Draco too, had fallen for the bushy haired Gryffindor, and had also not worked up the courage to inform her. Suddenly he was met with a wave of regret. Either way this ended, Draco Malfoy would be losing someone close to him. On one hand he could spare Neville's feelings and lose his shot with Hermione, on another hand he could denounce his and Neville's friendship and pursue Hermione, and on the third hand, he could pursue Hermione alongside Neville, and leave the decision up to her.

Bracing himself for the worst, Draco replied "Sure. Yes, Neville. I will...I will see what I can do-"

Anything further the Malfoy heir could have said was interrupted and reduced to gasps for breath by a bone-crushing hug and a happy Neville Longbottom thanking him profusely.

The two teenage veterans sat there for another few minutes until Draco had finally gotten uncomfortable enough to go get himself something to eat and continue reading in peace, leaving Neville to stare off into space, daydreaming about a certain bushy-haired brunette.

After a brief snack from the Great Hall, Draco headed to the Library, passing by Ginny and a couple of her new groupies as he did so. While the former snark lord shrunk to the side of the hall, the Weasley daughter spared him a brief glance before averting her eyes.

It was only after arriving in the Library that Draco realized he had forgotten his book.


	7. Thunderstruck

The day had passed slowly for Luna. Very slowly. She had been distracted for the better part of the day trying to imagine exactly what she could do to save Harry.

...and Ginny. Her too.

It had been about a week since she and Draco had shared their suspicions in Muggle Technologies class, and neither had come any closer to figuring out what they could do against Voldemort, or even how they could do anything alone. The only thing they had thought of thus far was recruiting Hermione Granger.

Seeing as neither Luna nor Draco were proficient at open combat, and neither knew very much in the sense of Muggle strategies, both agreed that there was a chance they would need to resort to such tactics if Voldemort had finally learned not to underestimate his opponents. The blondes were also equally aware that Voldemort's army of Death Eaters had not all been imprisoned or captured, and those who escaped the Battle of Hogwarts had still yet to be captured. Draco was certain that they were laying low, and that they had not decided to fade into the background for long. Equally as disturbing as the thought of Voldemort's legion of followers biding their time was the aforementioned Dark Lord's age and magical prowess. His age was not exactly an _active_ concern for the duo. _Passively_ , however, a greater age meant a larger spell pool to choose from, and more experience to draw from. If this was not enough, neither Draco nor Luna were in on the plans to defeat him the last time, and so would not know if any plan they enacted would be recognized until it would be too late.

Hermione, conversely, had been dubbed the brightest witch of her age, had a vast pool of knowledge, spells and hexes, second hand experience fighting the Dark Lord in question to draw from, and even had an understanding of basic Muggle weapons and strategies. She was also close to Harry, and so knew which strategies the now-defunct Golden Trio had already used.

Plus, Luna thought to herself, I'm sure she wouldn't be opposed to two offers of friendship.

Upon seeing Hagrid approaching her class, Luna immediately perked back up. Care of Magical Creatures was generally her favourite class, and this year Hagrid took longer to get to class because of an injury to his right knee that hadn't healed properly. The Death Eater who managed to curse Hagrid's knee in the Battle of Hogwarts had earned himself a half-Giant punch in the rib cage...needless to say, although the man escaped the battle alive, he escaped it with several broken ribs and a phobia of tall people.

Typically, an ordinary injury that refused to heal properly was an easy fix to an experienced enough healer. The curse that ruined the jovial hybrid's knee however, was designed specifically to worsen the wound during attempts to heal it with magic. This particularly vile curse was engineered by Grindelwald himself to burrow into a magic user's skeletal system and take root, becoming as permanent as a curse can be, barring the killing curse. Due to the massive drawbacks dealt to one's energy reserves after casting though, this curse was rarely used in battle. And because of the whole "burrowing into the skeleton" part, the only proven method to heal an injury from this curse was melting and rebuilding the entire skeletal system, with liberal use of Skele-grow. The only reason Hagrid hadn't tried this was because nobody was exactly sure what Skele-grow would do to his half-Giant genetics.

After the reconstructions to Hogwarts were finished, Hagrid had requested his own dwelling to also be reconstructed, as the structural integrity of the old hut was no longer exactly, well, existing. It had been destroyed badly enough that magic would do no good in repairing it. Hagrid, of course, manually rearranged the building after it was rebuilt by professional workers, not being one to favour grandiose designs over simple coziness. The inspector who showed up the next day demanded the renovations to be redone, and thus began a sort of competition between the half-Giant and the contractors, as well as a topic of debate amongst the students: what building style is Hagrid's Hut now, and who designed it? When confronted by the students about this, Hagrid simply laughed and claimed that he was " jus' not a fan of the new decorations."

His expressed distaste was only half in jest though.

"A'ight, gather up, seventh years," the burly man shouted, "because today I've got with me here a special creature."

The class hushed up after that. On the first day of class this year, Hagrid had informed the students that there were five types of creatures he would bring in. Depending on the type of the creature, he would be more or less lenient about not paying attention in the class, and sometimes just brought in Crups for the students to play with.

Type number one was "Peculiar." Creatures described as this were the peaceful ones that wouldn't intentionally harm the students. None of these were particularly sentient, none could speak human languages, none were larger than an owl, and none required much attention.

Type number two was "Nifty." Creatures described this way were relatively small and sentient, but did not always speak in human languages. These creatures typically had a defining magical defense mechanism such as launching magic, energy, or projectiles.

Type number three was "Familiar." These creatures were, expectedly, the ones most of the students had heard of or seen as a pet. These classes were the least serious, and the ones Hagrid allowed the most inattention and playing. Sometimes on days when his knee was acting up, Hagrid would call for a repeat of one of these days. Officially, it was because of the scheduled creature getting loose, or inattentive behaviour from students. Unofficially, Hagrid just wanted a calm day and the students agreed to keep the free period on the down-low in hopes of more fun days.

Type number four was "Dangerous." These were the creatures that students heard of and sometimes met in Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. On these days, Hagrid would only bring a single creature to the class, and allowed no side chatter or inattention. These creatures were almost always deadly, and in the case of malicious, sentient beings, multiple class periods were spent on the single creature. To Luna's current count, Hagrid had brought in an Acromantula four separate times in order to help explain to the class the cultural background behind them.

The last type was "Special." On these class days, Hagrid would bring in various creatures from distant origins. Once, Hagrid had requested Torvus the Centaur to come regale the students about Centaur tales and culture. In fact, Headmistress McGonagall had made efforts to track down Fawkes specifically for Hagrid's class, albeit with limited success.

"Settle down now," the gentle half-Giant called. "Today I've brought with me here a special case. Now, yer gonna be interested in this, I can promise you tha'. I've got with me today another avian feller." This last part was added with a pointed glance at Hermione, whom had begun a chart earlier in the year showing her hypothesized chain of evolution for magical creatures. Avians, or bird-like creatures, was a branch on her tree that was lacking the most creatures.

As Hagrid approached the class, it became evident that he was hiding something, presumably the bird he was talking about, behind his back under a white cloth of sorts. The thing under the blanket was shuffling every few seconds, cooing softly.

Hagrid finally stopped approaching the class, momentarily wincing at the strain on his knee from standing with his full weight on it. "This here creature took me quite a lot of effort and time to get here, an' this one's especially fun, it is. Today class, I'd like to introduce yeh to a Thunderbird."

This took the class for a surprise, as Hagrid had never covered a creature native only to the Americas before. He took the cloth off of the bird and released it toward the students.

The Thunderbird was roughly the size of a large American eagle, with a small, angular white-feathered head and a rather sharp-looking hooked beak. Its beady black eyes flicked from student to student, before the bird seemingly deemed its audience worthy and regally glided to the center of the clearing, the golden feathers of its body shimmering in the sunlight. Six individual wings glinted beautifully in the bright afternoon sky, the largest pair easily larger than its body was long. As the Thunderbird perched on a rock that had been set aside for it, Luna and a few of her classmates drew a little closer to the bird. As the creature preened, the feathers on its wings began to stand up, the air beginning to take on a scent reminiscent of ozone and crackling faintly with electricity.

When Parvati Patil got a little too close, the foreign bird tensed up, before letting out a warbling screech that was somehow both high pitched and low pitched at the same time, reverberating around the clearing like thunder across an empty valley. The soft golden shade of its coat faded to a stormy grey, the wingtips glowing a deep, vibrant blue. A tuft of feathers at the top of the agitated avian's head darkened to a rusted red colouring. Hagrid quickly stepped in and put a meaty hand between the intimidated Gryffindor and the quite literally electrifying bird. As it squawked in protest at the intervention, a slight breeze picked up and a few raindrops fell from the sky, surprising a few of the nearby students. The Thunderbird's indignant screech boomed again.

Luna, having recognized the creature from an article her father had written for an American paper a few years back, had allowed the other students to approach the creature while she hung back. Taking note of the defensive stance the storm bird was in, Luna began sketching the spectacle as quickly as she could, for her father had not told her Thunderbirds could electrically charge their feathers.

While Hagrid tried to calm the now visibly frightened Thunderbird, Luna thought back to her conversation with Draco regarding Hermione, simultaneously eyeing the bushy-haired brunette furiously scribbling down notes and occasionally glancing back up at the bird from a few yards away.

There was a certain "mess with me, and I'll mess you up" quality that the dreamy blonde admired about the brunette witch. Her knowledgeable, respectful air was something of a comfort to Luna. It was as though the former know-it-all was a bulwark of support and stability, offered to practically any who was willing to ask. She was rather mature, the Ravenclaw supposed. If the studious Gryffindor wasn't so stubborn and closed-minded when they'd first met, she'd have made for a great role model.

Luna's train of thought was interrupted by Neville calling out, "Hermione, get back!"

Her misty eyes jerked upward in surprise just in time to see Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Head Girl, last remaining member of the Golden Trio at Hogwarts, Muggleborn teen witch extraordinaire, Harry Potter's once closest confidante, take a cerulean bolt of lightning arching through the air into her chest and get blasted back a metre or so by a sudden, powerful gust of wind launched by the Thunderbird. Neville was the only student not frozen in shock at the assault the teen hero took head-on, and ran toward her prone form. Hagrid took the following moment of silence as the intimidating creature faltered, realising exactly what it had just done, to detain the magical bird. None of the other students moved a muscle, instead opting to stare in horror at the blackened front of the fallen witch's school robes. Neville reached her, gripped her wrist, and looked up at Hagrid, before putting his ear to her chest. His eyes widened after a couple seconds before relaying his evaluations to the adult in charge.

She wasn't breathing.


	8. Recovery

Draco stood, outside the hospital ward of the castle, back pressed against the smooth, sturdy, re-polished wood of the door. Madam Pomfrey had said visitors were allowed to enter the room mere minutes ago, and yet to the Malfoy heir it had been almost an hour. He had been trying to calm his racing heart since he arrived at the door.

_Tick._

A couple feet above the male, a clock stuck three hours past noon. Somewhere down the hallway to Draco's left, a youth yelped in surprise. Moments later, a harried-looking young girl adorned in Hufflepuff yellow shot past, leaving Draco to himself once more.

It wasn't until another few minutes passed that Draco found himself nearly bowled over by the door opening outwardly and without warning behind him, giving yield to Madam Pomfrey herself.

"Mr. Malfoy?" The usually kindly medi-witch started briskly, "You're here for Miss Granger, are you not?"

He waited for a count of three before considering responding, nerves bristling in response to old prejudices no longer felt in the heart. A brief flare of temper sparked at the indignity of being called out for waiting on a- a Muggleborn, of all people, to be feeling better. In all fairness, she did take a bolt of lightning to the chest and practically die not five hours ago, but he should be celebrating! One less Muggleborn student at Hogwarts! And yet...it was a hollow feeling. A humbling feeling. Hermione Granger, through whatever means that she may or may not have been aware of, had no right to capture his heart this way. It was indecent. An outrage! A Pureblood and a Muggleborn? Preposterous! Further still, a momentary twinge of appalled shock rose from his mind at how blatantly the elderly witch before him so...so impudently assaulted him, and how dare she? She, too, had no right!

At this, a feeling of morose guilt sprouted at the shallow feelings worming their way back into his head. A pang of regret stabbed at his heart. It wasn't that Hermione and Madam Pomfrey had no right to live their lives as they did, of course not! Not how dare them, but rather how dare _he_? He had no right to judge the witches in question based solely on things he perceived to be wrongs committed against him. They weren't even all that bad! All Hermione ever did to tick him off was simply exist, and all Madam Pomfrey ever did to him was bump him with a door by mistake. She probably didn't even realize that she did.

A pike of self-hatred went through his chest at the very thought of having this internal conflict. He should know this by now! Just like with his father! Why did it take him so long to figure out that his father would never have been proud of a son without his same ideals? He could have seen it faster! He could have run off to some other house years ago! Malfoy was a respected name! He could definitely have claimed his parents wanted him to learn how the "lesser" mages lived and stayed with the general wizarding populace, or even just the Hog's Head Inn at Hogsmeade.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

At this, he snapped back into focus. It wouldn't do to trouble himself with unsolvable questions. "Yes, er- sorry. Ye- yes. I am. Before I go in, is she..."

A thin grey eyebrow steadily climbed up the witch's forehead at Draco's trailing sentence. "Is she what, Mr. Malfoy? Decent? Of course! Why else would I tell you that visitors were welcome?"

The blonde hurriedly corrected her assumption, lest the blush he felt spreading up his cheeks become permanent. "No! No. What I meant to ask was, if she...you know...alive?"

Grey eyebrows still rising, "Of course! What do you think I am, some charlatan reading my instructions on little parchment scripts? Of course not! I am a licensed healer in forty-two countries, and have the highest titles in the medical world achievable here in magical Britain. Stop wasting my time, questioning my abilities, and see if your friend is feeling alright. Recent death is most certainly a thing I can fix, but emotional health is another thing altogether..." With that, the lady now grumpily marched off, almost dutifully, towards the Grand Staircase.

Draco stood for a moment then, gathering his courage, before hurrying into the room.

The infirmary was just as sterile-smelling as he remembered, and just as white as he remembered too. In one of the beds on his far left, Hermione lay awake, having not noticed his arrival. He watched her then, for a few seconds, taking in her cross expression, mouth locked in a firm frown of disapproval, ever-bushy hair matted across her face- wait, no, she just brushed it aside. She must have been pondering something. This, being normal behaviour for the young lady in question, was a good sign to the Slytherin in the room that she was alright. Draco allowed himself another second or two to admire the Gryffindor before making his presence known with a gentle clearing of his throat. The brown-eyed bookworm glanced up then, in his direction, before spotting him.

Her face cracked into a smile. "Morning, Draco. Thank you for visiting me on your time, you didn't really have to..."

At this, he held back a smirk - she was backpedaling now. So predictably polite. "Hermione. Did you sleep well? That was quite the display you put on back there. Quite the light show, I might add."

"Oh, shut up, Ferret Boy," the witch responded jovially. Had it not been for the fact that Draco could tell when she was joking now, he'd have probably felt offended at that remark. Since he was now more or less versed in evaluating Hermione's tone, it was all too easy to come up with a retort he knew she wouldn't mind.

"Well Dr. Granger, you do appear to be alive and well."

The brunette blushed a little and looked abashedly to her right. "You know very well Draco, that it's my parents that are the dentists. And still, my school robes are ruined! Granted, I own three other uniform outfits, but still!"

Draco then proceeded to evaluate the damage to Hermione's attire. Obviously, it was only a matter of time before this lead to him staring down at the front of her robes. Thankfully Hermione was practically the definition of lean, with little physical beauty besides that of her face, or the situation would be rather more awkward for the both of them. The robes in question were blackened considerably, and an empty patch that presumably once held fabric resided just below the witch's left collarbone. A charred white t-shirt was all the clothing that remained visible behind it. The once dull grey simplicity of the Hogwarts robe was now marred by several grass stains visible on the Gryffindor's left side. The front of the robes had a series of soot stains covering much of the young heroine's rib cage. The red and yellow of her trademark Gryffindor scarf was matted brown with soot and dirt. All in all, the ensemble was extremely effective in showing off the disheveled appearance of the brunette. In that moment, she looked so down to earth-

"...co, why are you still staring at me? Surely the scar isn't permanent."

Silver eyes blinked back into focus. He was treading on dangerous, unpredictable ground here. Letting his mind get clouded with his accursed affections stood only to put him in an unfavourable situation. Better just to keep them locked up inside. Safer that way.

"My apologies, Hermoine. I...I was trying to assess the damage myself. Madam Pomfrey was not very sparing with details about the injury." _Flawless save there, Draco. That was oh so believable._ Thankfully, the young woman before him seemed to buy his excuse.

"Oh...well, you could've asked, I'd have shown you. We're both responsible adults by now." As evident by this statement, either Hermione needed some more women in her life, she had no shame, or showing the wound didn't require removing her top. Draco's mind, against his better judgement and efforts, momentarily built up an image of the beautiful bookworm before him, in a...less than modest state of attire. He quickly shook that thought from his head however, planning to keep his head in the game for as long as he could. After all, he was almost in his twenties now. It wouldn't do for him to be thinking such thoughts at a time where he should be securing his future. Mentally swapping her face with that of their now mutual friend Harry Potter quickly killed off the decidedly lecherous image, thankfully.

Hermione then looked at him quizzically. Draco, fearing she knew of the twisted path his mind was leading him, slowly backpedaled a few steps. She followed, step for step.

"What are you really here for, Draco," the witch asked, eyes squinting as though he was a puzzle, and she, the solver. "If my health was the only thing on your mind, you'd have strolled in here sooner. I know from experience last month. Madam Pomfrey told me when you arrived at the door, so don't think you can lie your way around this, Draco." Two steps back, three steps, four. She mimicked each step, each stride lengthened to account for his longer legs. He hit a wall. The brunette didn't stop until she had effectively trapped him between herself and said wall. Suddenly a brief flash of discomfort flickered across Hermione's face, as if the effort of shifting her left arm was still mildly painful. She propped her hand up against the wall on Draco's right side, likely trying to recover lost breath. She was close enough now that Draco could faintly hear her tinny breath in the otherwise soundless atrium of a room they were in. A little too close for comfort, actually. Or, to the deepest part of Draco's subconscious fighting to surface, _not close enough_.

A frown was beginning to work itself onto Hermione's face as she spoke on. "I know you've been preoccupied with something the past few days, and I know it's something troubling you. You've zoned out and began staring into space twice now in the past five minutes." A quarter of a step closer. They were a foot's length apart by now, her arms slowly closing in. Draco shuddered a bit, remembering how eerily similar this action was to the way his deceased Aunt Bellatrix used to show him affection in his youth. She'd pin him to a wall and close in, with a sort of manic look in her eyes, and would bring her face within inches of his neck, giving him a quick embrace and then pulling back and poking both sides of his face with her fingers, more often than not simultaneously pinching his cheeks, much to the detriment of his father. She always was rather unhinged, wasn't she?

Hermione ceased her approach suddenly, as if just now realizing that she was intruding on Draco's personal space. A part of him was disappointed, but another was equally glad he was able to maintain composure. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from hugging her senselessly in his relief she was alive and well. He was certain he'd be able to hold himself from kissing her.

Hermione's frown deepened, and she stepped back. "Sorry. That was too aggressive, wasn't it?" The Muggleborn witch asked. At his hesitation to answer, she sighed. "What's wrong, Draco? I promise, I'm not mad that you waited for me to finish recovering. If anything, it's an improvement from waking up to find friends at your side and with no time to refresh yourself. Anyways, can you tell me?"

He knew she was genuinely concerned, and at her pleading tone he decided he had to confess something, because she'd know if he was lying. _What to tell, what to tell_ , he pondered. He certainly hoped his pose gave an appearance of trying to decipher how to word his answer. _Right! That plan with Luna!_

"Well Hermione, I'm not sure how to say this..."

"You can do it. Just let the words fall out. Don't worry about my feelings. I can take it, Draco." She seemed to be bracing herself for something. Not the right something, though.

"If you insist. I am fairly certain You-Know-Who is still out there, alive, and I am equally certain where he is- "

"But that's impossible! Harry already finished him off!" At this, the smartest witch of schooling age at Hogwarts began to get defensive. If she was allowed to simmer in her emotions for too long, it would become difficult to tear her mind away from that feeling and set of thoughts - best to attempt to sway her before she forms an opinion of her own, the Malfoy heir considered.

He then hurried to cut her off while he could still get a word in edgewise. "For confirmation, consult Luna. You will find that she shares the same beliefs," he said, "in fact, we suspect that Voldemort is possessing one Ginny Weasley, and that he never truly left her mind in second year when Harry saved her. Neither of us have done anything about it yet because we do not know what we are doing, and both of us believed we stood no chance on our own." He was technically making that part up, well, most of it, but it was based in truth. Neither Draco nor Luna would last long on their own, that was for sure.

Hermione froze, eyes wide. Draco could tell she didn't believe him just yet. _Of course not. She needs to evaluate it for herself._ After a few seconds, the brunette issued a shaky breath. "You...you're right...We never _did_ end up checking if her mind was recovered. We...sort of just accepted her word for it, and focused on purging her blood of the basilisk venom. But, surely that's just coincidental alignment!"

She was getting desperate, he thought. If there was one type of fact that the witch before him had time and again refused to believe, it was coincidence. He had her hook, line, and sinker, as fishermen may say. Almost, at least. He knew that there was little physical evidence behind his claims, and he knew that having Luna for his co-conspirator was a risky move considering how spotty Hermione's belief in Luna's claims typically were. At the same time, he was relying on the fact that this was a serious threat if they were right to carry the message home.

The blond did not reply, for even if he wanted to, the 'Gryff' continued talking to herself, pacing back and forth in circles. She seemed genuinely worried.

She paused to look him in the eyes. "Draco," she started, rather softly. "Please tell me you're joking with me. Please tell me this is all a setup, and when I turn around, Harry, Ron, Luna, Neville, and Ginny will all be behind me with a surprise." There were tears beginning to shine in her eyes. Draco began to regret telling her.

 _No! Pull yourself together, man!_ He mentally slapped himself. Here he was fretting over tripping this insufferable Muggleborn's hopes when there were loads better things he could be doing to prepare. _The fate of your entire world may be at stake here! Keeping the wrong people out of the loop could mean allowing that madman to cheat death again. It's better to crush one kindred spirit than to allow the crushing of hundreds of oblivious others, maybe even thousands more. She can suck it up and be a big girl, or be oblivious and be a dead girl. We need her intellect on our side.  
_

"I will say no such thing, Hermione. And I am not sorry to kill your mood. We need the inside help of one of the major proponents in Voldemort's last several defeats, barring his most recent."

Despite herself, a small wash of red tinged the heroine's cheeks. "Just...just give me time to process this. We need to tell Harry."

This time, it was Draco to seize up. "I cannot let you do that," he said softly, yet firmly. There was no risking this, after all. Draco knew well how protective Harry could get, and knew just as much that any warnings to the aforementioned orphan hero about his girlfriend would set ablaze the metaphorical bridge he and Draco had built over the course of time since the war. And the last thing the pair of blondes needed was The-Boy-Who-Conquered defending Voldemort unknowingly. With their combined might, Harry and Voldemort working together would be next to impossible for Luna and himself to even subdue.

"We cannot tell Harry this," he continued whilst avoiding her gaze. "Just...trust me here...please."

After a pause lasting what seemed like too long for polite conversation, the brunette spoke up, in a tone that sounded akin to reluctant acceptance, "fine. So what do we do?"

Draco glanced upwards in bewilderment at this. Had he not already been clear that he and Luna needed her assistance for making plans? Did she actually think that he was taking the reigns here? No. Bloody. Way. He made certain to voice his grievances.

"You mean to tell me that you're recruiting me," Hermione paused for a breath before continuing, "and that you want me to take on the leadership role?" Her tone got more incredulous with every passing moment. "Draco, have you paid any attention to how Harry, Ron and I behaved? I was never the one in charge. I wouldn't know what to do! Sure, I came up with most of our plans, but that's different!"

"But that means it is up to either Luna or myself, and between you and I, neither of us are exactly leadership material. Hermione, we need yo-"

The infirmary door being slammed open interrupted his retort. It was Seamus Finnegan, panting with exhaustion and forehead dripping with sweat. Evidently, he had run a long way. "Hermione, are y-" the young man paused, staring in plain confusion at the two former rivals.

Draco didn't blame the poor chap. He probably wasn't even expecting to find him in here with her, much less expecting to see the two of them so close. Granted, they were two or three feet apart, but it was still a little scandalous, he supposed.

"Yes, Seamus? What is it?" Hermione asked. She had managed to quietly scoot another foot away from Draco in the moment of silence since the aforementioned Finnegan entered the room. Draco was mildly impressed, to be honest.

"Well," he began, still panting, "I've been speaking with Dean the past couple o' days, and me an' him can't find Ernie, no matter how much we looked! You remember Ernie, right? Ernie Macmillan? We tried to find him by tracking an owl with a letter for him, but it just flapped around all confused-like before circling the grounds. After that, it just landed. Have either of you two seen 'im? Macmillan's gotta be around here somewhere..."

Draco backed a little away from the conversation. While he and Seamus got along a little better now than they did a few years ago, that didn't necessarily mean they were close friends.

"Now that you mention it," the brunette witch quietly said, "I actually haven't seen him. I just assumed he was sick. Have you seen him, Draco?"

The Slytherin startled. He had been content to just listen to the conversation, but apparently his friend had other plans. He briefly made eye contact with the young Irishman before him, Malfoy silver eyes peering into Finnigan brown. He was almost certain the young man standing before him would turn around then and there, and look for someone else's help, but instead the tired Gryffindor waited, seeming to have recaptured his breath.

"Well, I," the blonde began, his voice seemingly unsure of its own ability to work anymore, "I think I last saw him walking around on the first floor, by the Great Hall. It was a couple days ago. I had thought he was just heading to class." And it was true. Ernie Macmillan shared no classes with the Malfoy heir, so he never really paid the Hufflepuff much attention.

 _Besides,_ Draco thought to himself, _it's not like he'd have wanted to even be seen near me at this point._

Noticing the uneasy tension suddenly filling the room like a smog, Hermione cleared her throat. "I'll help you look for Ernie in a couple minutes, Seamus. I've got to get my bearings back still. Electrified lungs and all."

Taking the hint, Seamus departed from the room, but not before issuing Draco a sly wink. Said Slytherin simply rolled his eyes in response to the sandy-haired wizard halfway out the door. Seamus was already out of the room before Draco could think up a snide comment or rude gesture (which honestly, he figured, was a good thing).

An awkward taciturnity fell over the remaining young adults in the room.

Draco, interrupting the silence, spoke up. "You know, we need your experience. Luna and myself."

The brunette straightened her back, her eyes closed to the world, before reaching behind her for her schoolbooks, which had apparently been lying on the bedside table since before Draco arrived. She made no move to respond to her blonde cohort, but instead looked determinedly ahead of her, dutifully remaking the bed she had been confined to for the past three hours.

When she was done, Draco observed, she avoided making eye contact with him, instead opting to speed-walk her way out of the infirmary. He thought she wasn't going to answer him, but lo and behold, as she was a broomstick's length away from the grand double doors, she turned to face him, eyes downtrodden. The lioness before him took a deep breath, before speaking up.

"I...I'll help, of course. I've just got to do some other things first. Are you absolutely certain we cannot recruit more help?"

Draco looked up in thought, and out of his peripheral sight, he could tell she awaited his answer before looking for the missing Hufflepuff, as the bandaged beauty stood stock still, eyes tracing his movements.

 _In_ _actuality_ , he thought, _it might not be that poor an idea. We could definitely use the House Elves' assistance, and I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to get the Quidditch teams to gang up against Potter, and keep him distracted._ In all reality, it wasn't that bad of a plan. And if worst came to worst, living with the Dark Lord once had practically desensitized him to death. He was sure he could probably build up the courage to beat Ginevra's head in with the Quidditch gear, if magic was no longer an option. If there was one single sliver of a thing that his father could bring himself to respect about Muggles, it was their sheer tenacity and ingenuity when it came to designing new ways of killing each other, be it blunt force, incendiary, chemical, or electrical. _  
_

_On the other hand,_ he supposed, _this would effectively mar my tentatively clean slate._ Murder was a thing his godfather had spared his conscience the guilt of once, but now there wasn't anyone else to do it for him. There was no way he was allowing Luna or Hermione to be charged with murder, or another war crime on his behalf. On his plan.

The problems that arose with involving more people were numerous at best, only multiplying with every new factor introduced. For instance, eliciting the help of the Hogwarts House Elves was only a temporary solution at best, as surely they would side with Harry, and in turn, Voldemort. Hence, bad idea. Recruiting a professor would be something Voldemort would have suspected, as it wasn't exactly a new trick in the book. This meant turning to family or friends.

He couldn't get Luna's father involved, as it was too great a risk that the man may accidentally let something slip in his paper. After all, it wasn't exactly a little-known fact that Quibbler Editor Xenophilius Lovegood had only barely held himself together after the war, for his daughter's sake. During the war, Voldemort had his Death Eaters kidnap Luna, and held her hostage. Xenophilius was forced to lure Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley to his house for an ambush set up by the Death Eaters. In fact, Draco's father himself was the one who thought the idea up and recommended it to Voldemort.

Speaking of Draco's father, dear old Lucius himself, being the Malfoy clan head, managed to not just disgrace his immediate family, but all other Malfoys he represented. Meaning nobody by the family name of Malfoy was being treated very well right about now.

So asking family was outside of the question. This meant involving friends. Friends who had already gone through this war once, personally. Friends who had all lost at least one person they knew or loved. There were actually only a few people Draco would consider to involve here for this reason. Neville Longbottom being the prime candidate. However, Harry and Neville shared a room still.

There was no way he was reaching out to Ron Weasley for help. It would be hard enough getting him to turn on Harry, but his sister as well?

Noticing Hermione hadn't yet left him to his musings, the blonde heir spoke up, resolute and unwavering certainty in his voice.

"Yes. I- _We_ cannot afford to reach out to more people. It would only complicate things further."

"I hope you know what you're getting us into, Draco," she murmured. And then she was gone.

...he certainly hoped he knew what he was getting into, at least.


End file.
